Medieval 01 - Untamed

never existed.
    An expression of both concentration and unease went over Meg’s face. Dominic had noticed just that look more and more often since dawn.
    â€œHow do you feel?” he asked anxiously.
    â€œLike I will need both of your strong arms to haul me out of even this shallow bath.”
    Gently Dominic lifted Meg from the bath andwrapped her in a soft drying cloth.
    â€œSomeday we will have to find a suitable handmaiden,” Meg said.
    Dominic made a neutral sound as he smoothed his hands over the body that had once been slender but was now swollen with his seed.
    â€œâ€™Tis unseemly for the lord of a keep to be his wife’s servant,” Meg pointed out.
    â€œâ€™Tis a great pleasure for the lord of this keep to feel his babe’s life stirring beneath his hands,” Dominic countered.
    Abruptly Meg’s body went rigid with the force of her labor. When she spoke, her voice was strained.
    â€œCall for the midwife. The babe is suddenly quite eager.”
    While the storm howled around the keep, Dominic carried Meg to the bed she had prepared for the birthing. Fragrant herbs and dried flowers scented the air, and luxurious tapestries cut off drafts from the wind.
    The midwife rushed into the room, saw at once that Meg’s time was close at hand, and muttered all the way through the Glendruid water ritual Meg insisted she perform.
    â€œThere!” the midwife said as she yanked a smock into place. “Are you happy now?”
    â€œAye.”
    Meg’s voice was a bare thread. Her fingers were clenched on Dominic’s hand with enough force that her nails left bright marks on his skin. He smoothed back her hair and kissed her cheek, telling her of his love.
    From the corner of her eyes, the midwife looked at Dominic. Such tenderness was rare in any man, much less in one whose ferocity had become famous throughout the northern marches.
    No quarter. No prisoners .
    And there had been none.
    Roving gangs of bandits and knights without lords still harried the northern land, but not one of them troubled the domain of the man who wore the Glendruid Wolf.
    The winter storm buffeted the keep, making a loose shutter bang. The long, rising cry of the wind made the midwife look around uneasily.
    From Dominic’s shoulder, the wolf’s eyes gleamed as though alive and watching the Glendruid witch from whose body the future would come.
    â€œYou may go about your business, lord,” the midwife said. “I will care for her now.”
    â€œNay,” Dominic said flatly. “My lady has been by my side through peace and war, sickness and health. I will not abandon her in her pain.”
    The midwife’s shock made her speechless. Before she could regain her tongue, Meg groaned as her body was seized by the urgency of birth.
    Wolf’s eyes gleamed with every shift of Dominic’s body while he shared his wife’s labor in the only way he could.
    Soon the wind howled with a triumph that was echoed in another strong cry, a baby tasting its first wild draught of freedom.
    â€œLord Dominic,” the midwife said, awed, “ the witch has given you a son! ”
    Â 
    I N the years that followed, Blackthorne Keep rang with the shouts of children at play. As the sons grew older, Dominic taught them the way of the sword and the wolf, giving them the skill to fight when they must and the wisdom to seek peace when they could. Meg’s daughters learned the way of water and growing things, of garden and herbal, and that the healing force was both gentle and fierce.
    Together, in every word and silence, with laughter and with tears, Glendruid witch and Glendruid Wolf taught their children the most important truth of all: there is no more powerful magic than the generous heart and untamed soul of love.

About the Author
    ELIZABETH LOWELL’s acclaimed suspense novels include the New York Times bestsellers The Color of Death , Die in Plain Sight , Moving Target , Running Scared , and four books featuring the Donovan family, Amber Beach , Jade Island , Pearl Cove , and Midnight in Ruby Bayou . Lowell has more than thirty million books in print. She lives in Seattle, Washington, with her husband, with whom she writes mystery novels under a pseudonym. Visit her website at www.elizabethlowell.com.
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By Elizabeth Lowell
    D EATH I S F OREVER • A LWAYS T IME TO D